


Day 3 - George Takes a Love Potion

by musicalcrimescene



Series: Harry Potter 12 Days of Christmas [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fred and Lee Jordan are in on it, George takes a love potion, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, Love Potion/Spell, Mutual Pining, Not really angst but it's kinda there, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Reader tries to remain realistic, Requited Unrequited Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalcrimescene/pseuds/musicalcrimescene
Summary: George takes a love potion and is enamored with Reader. Turns out he doesn't need a love potion to be in love with her.
Relationships: George Weasley/Reader
Series: Harry Potter 12 Days of Christmas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055726
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	Day 3 - George Takes a Love Potion

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I don't know why I always post these so late (that's a lie, I do know. I spend all day reading a book, I finish the book, and then finally start writing at like 6pm. I'm a procrastinator by heart) but here it is! Day 3! I came up with this one while trying to fall asleep one night and thought it would be cute, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
> 
> Thank you all again for being your lovely selves, and I love and appreciate you all! Stay safe out there!

It’s unreasonable to expect an uneventful day at Hogwarts, especially when The Chosen One Harry Potter is only one year below you. He’s a good bloke, sure. The two of you get on, but that doesn’t stop crazy shit from happening all the damn time.

This time, though, you can hardly blame it on Harry. In fact, you’re pretty sure he has nothing to do with this. No, this time it’s entirely the Weasley twins’ fault. Of course; it usually was for you. Being friends with them for all your years at Hogwarts will do that to a person, you suppose. By now you think you should be used to it, but every time they manage to come up with something new and even crazier than before.

A love potion. A bloody love potion. You’re pretty sure those are illegal, though you remember brewing Amortentia in Snape’s class last year and so you imagine they can’t be too illegal. Still, Fred and George should definitely know better than to mess with something like that. Usually they’re not this daft, but add in Lee Jordan and a bottle of firewhiskey and any and all reason seem to fly out the door with them.

Sighing, you close your eyes and set down your book as they sit in front of you on the common room couch. 

“Ok, let me get this straight.” Your eyebrows furrow and you pinch the top of your nose, right between your eyes. A headache is already starting to form. “The three of you decided to come up with some new product for your future shop, that’s fine. That’s normal.”

You open your eyes and drop your hand, staring down at the three boys with sheepish grins with a deadpan look of your own.

“And then,” you say, tone hinting at a sudden loss of logic (of which there was), “you decided to try and make a love potion. But you were impatient and overzealous and didn’t bother getting the proper amount of ingredients and somehow made some washed up, fraction-as-powerful love potion and then decided to drink it?” Lee pipes up.

“Well, in our defence, only one of us drank it.” Fred picks it up from there.

“Yeah! We had to know if it would work or not, so we really didn’t have a choice.” He gestures to the final person in their trio, sitting between Fred and Lee, and you set your dead-eyed glance on the third idiot. He doesn’t look back. Not for lack of trying, but because he’s unable to. A blindfold is tied around his eyes, which you suppose is the first intelligent thing they’ve done tonight.

Their version of a love potion is slightly flawed, they explain, and thus it takes effect in the drinker as soon as they see another person. Said person will be the bearer of the drinker’s infatuation. You’d throttle them for their idiocy if you weren’t so worn out by them.

Glancing wearily at George, scoot a little closer, examining his face. He has yet to say a single word and you’re not at all used to such silence from one of the twins. 

“George… How do you feel, mate?” Your question is tentative, but his answer is somehow disastrous. Reaching a hand up with speed unexpected by the rest of you, he tugs his blindfold off with annoyance and then relief.

Looking up at you, he smiles. “Like I want to take that bloody thing off. Bloody itchy, it was.” Your eyes widen as you stare back at George, and soon after Fred and Lee seem to take notice of what just happened as well. George looks around a moment with a questioning gaze before his body tightens up, his back going straight and rigid. He turned back to me, a goofy grin on his face.

“Bloody hell, Denbright. I knew you were beautiful, but you’re absolutely gorgeous tonight, love. I’d ravish you now if these two plonkers weren’t around.” He finishes his embarrassing declaration with a wink and you flush. You suppose the potion has kicked in. It’s just your luck that you manage to be the first person George sees. Honestly you don’t know why you’d ever expect anything different.

“Er… thanks, Georgie, that’s really sweet of you. Do you mind if I talk to these two plonkers for a moment? Alone?” He blinks and then frowns, looking quite upset at the idea of you not wanting to talk to him. Looking away from his sad eyes (Merlin, you’re weak to those), you gesture for Fred and Lee to follow you over to an empty corner of the common room.

When you’re well out of ear shot from George, you turn your back to him and flash your most aggressive glare. The two boys wince, but still manage to keep slight grins on their faces. You want to tear them apart, but with a glance over your shoulder at George, you decide to just deal with the issue at hand first.

“Ok, so this is a diluted version of the potion, right? So clearly the effects are the same level of intensity. What about the potion diluted?” You cross your arms as you wait for their answer. Lee just shrugs, but Fred seems to have an actual answer.

“No clue!” Well. Seems like Fred is just as much of a dunce as Lee. You resist the urge to whack them both upside the head and just continue glaring instead.

“Well you better figure it out before this gets out of control. What are we supposed to do about this? He thinks he’s in love with me.” You hear Fred’s amused snort and are just about to focus all your wrath on him, but suddenly two arms come around your waist and hug you from behind. You jump at the sudden contact and a chin rests itself on your shoulder, slightly turned in towards your neck. You can feel his breath on your skin and fight down the urge to shiver at the sensation.

“George,” you say, voice tight. “What are you doing?” He grins and brushes his nose against your ear with a light chuckle.

“You were over here for a while and I wasn’t with you, but they were. Didn’t seem fair.” You sigh and try to pretend you’re not leaning back into him just slightly. No, if someone thought they saw you doing so then it must have been a trick of the light. 

You reach up and pat one of his hands on your stomach with a sigh. It’s at this moment that, with raised brows and pleased grins, Fred and Lee try to slink away from the corner you’ve trapped them in. You whirl on them as much as you can while trapped in George’s arms with a glare. Unfortunately George’s grip only seems to tighten as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck and shoulder, and you’re unable to chase after the two buggers. You yell after them instead.

“Where do you think you’re going?” They shoot back grins and a wink.

“Well, I’m not sure what we’re going to do about it, but I suggest you spend some time with your dear Georgie. You wouldn’t want to break his vulnerable heart, would you?” You want to throttle Fred, but before you can even try the two of them have run up to the boys dormitory. After a moment you hear the slamming of a door you can only assume to be to their bedroom. George’s arms are still wrapped tight around your waist, warm breath traveling doing your neck.

You’re much too tired for this.

It’s a bloody Friday evening after all, and you were hoping to get some reading and napping in. And by napping, you suppose you meant go to bed, but you usually woke up around 11 and then stayed up until 2 anyway.

You turn towards George. “What do you say to going back to the couch, Weasley?” He frowns.

“George.” You raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

“George,” he repeats with more emphasis. “Don’t call me Weasley.” His nose wrinkles at the thought. “I like it when you call me George. Or, even better, Georgie.” You sigh and pat his hand again before gently removing it from your stomach. You shoot a small smile at him.

“Sure, George. Couch?” As you walk him over there - he refuses to let go of your hand - he continues speaking.

“Or darling, if you want. I wouldn’t mind darling. Perhaps love, or sweetheart, or dear-” You cut him off by pushing him down on the couch. Quickly following, you sit next to him while putting a decent amount of space between the two of you.

“I think I’ll stick with George, if it’s all the same to you.” He shrugs, but immediately shuffles over on the couch so he’s right next to you, thighs pressed together. He once more takes your hand, playing with your fingers. 

“You know, you really do have nice hands. My fingers are all long and spindly, but yours seem perfectly shaped. Soft, too.” He lifts your hand up to his mouth and kisses the pad of your ring finger. You blush and look away, trying to ignore the butterflies that his words create in your stomach.

“I don’t know about that,” you mumble, allowing him to continue playing with your fingers. You watch as he does so, looking at his hands. “I think yours are quite nice too. I don’t know much about hands or what makes them nice or not, but I think yours would fall on the side of pleasant.” You pause. “Besides, I like your long fingers. They make me think of…” You drift off, your mind starting in an innocent place, but quickly tumbling somewhere much less so.

Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as certain not-so-appropriate thoughts cross your mind, and you tilt your head down and away from him. He seems to understand what you were thinking anyway and laughs next to you, leaning in and trying to place his face in front of yours. Unfortunately, this just brings his body even closer to your own and your flush deepens.

Lifting your head back up, you place a hand on his chest and try pushing him away. He lets you, but places his free hand over yours, keeping it on his chest as he laughs. You try not to focus on the way you can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the movement of his chest as he laughs, and the faint beating of his heart. It’s much too fast…

He raises an eyebrow and gives you a cheeky grin. “Tell me, Denbright, what exactly do my hands make you think of?” You scowl, cheeks still red.

“Nothing,” you say. “Nothing at all.” You clear your throat. “Anyway, let’s move on. I’m not sure how well you three brewed this potion. Are you aware that you drank a love potion?” He cocks his head to the side, grin never fading.

“I’m aware that I’m hopelessly in love with you.” You can’t help the rush of heat to your face or the clenching of your stomach. It’s not real, you know that, but he’s saying it all with such sincerity that you can’t help but feel… No. It’s a love potion, of course it’s going to be convincing. You just have to stay strong for now.

“Right,” you say, voice tight. Now he frowns.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” You can’t manage to keep eye contact and so you glance around the common room instead. You know you probably shouldn’t antagonize someone under the influence of a love potion, and so you don’t answer, giving just a shrug instead. His frown deepens and he leans in closer, much too close for your comfort level. You feel as though your heart could give out any second now as he brings his nose down to yours.

“Well, then I suppose I’ll have to make you believe me.” You push down the nervousness and urge to stutter out your words as you lean away from him. In any other circumstance, you’d be more than glad to have George Weasley in your personal space. Now, though, it just feels like you’re taking advantage of him.

You gulp. “You can’t force someone to believe something, George.” He gives you a smile.

“No, but you can do everything in your power to convince them.” He straightens up, pulling away from you quickly. You let out a breath of relief, but turn out it was premature. Grabbing you around the waist, he pulls you over to him and across your lap so you’re leaning against the arm of the couch on his other side, legs still draped over him. He’s entirely too close, and only scoots closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to support you where the couch arm doesn’t. You squeak a bit at his manhandling, but will admit that it’s actually quite comfortable.

You look up at him, eyes wide, not bothering to say anything. He looks back at you as though you painted the stars on the sky just for him. You swallow again, trying not to get sucked into his gaze. You fail entirely. He really does have beautiful eyes…

“Denbright, you’re barmy if you think I don’t love you. I don’t believe there’s any reality in which I couldn’t be. You are completely and utterly lovely, I’m afraid, and I’m weak to you. Always have been.” This time you’re too stunned to say anything in return or even blush at his words. You just sit half in his lap and stare, cursing your heart for the way it stutters and starts up again much faster than before. 

You know George is under the influence of a love potion, but no one has ever said something like that to you before and you’re not sure how to react. You want to cry and kiss him or run away, but none of those seem like good options, so instead you hug him. Well, more like fling yourself forward and squeeze him tight as you bury your face into his shoulder.

He’s taken aback for a moment, but quickly wraps you up in his arms, whispering sweet words into your ear, calling you darling and my love. You let it sink in, further and further, until it’s suddenly too much. You’re unsure of when it started, but your eyes are wet and you feel more exhausted than you did an hour ago and so you push yourself away, turning your head away from him.

Blinking furiously, you try to get the unshed tears to leave. “George,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse. You don’t look at his face. “I know you’ve drunk a love potion, and I know this isn’t real. That’s ok, because it probably shouldn’t be anyway. But just… thank you. I’m not sure how much of that you actually meant, but thank you.” You slowly turn your face towards his. “It was very sweet of you, and for what it’s worth it meant a lot to me.”

When you finally manage to look at him, George has a sad look on his face. It’s the kind of sad that wasn’t spurred on by a sudden tragedy in a film or anything as sudden as that. It looks akin to the type of sadness you see on the face of someone who’s been holding onto that feeling for quite a while.

It leaves quickly though as he forces a smile to his face. The longer it stays there, the less forced it seems. “Of course, love. I’m always here for you.” You give a smile back and turn your face away again. It still feels a bit much, sitting there with - on top of - him and maintaining eye contact. You clear your throat again.

“Well, if we’re going to be here a while then I suppose we ought to do something. What are you feeling up to? I have some exploding snap up in my drawers.” He smiles and shakes his head, bringing his arms back around you, pulling you close and tucking you into his chest.

“No,” he says, nose pressing against the top of your head. “I’d like it if we could just stay here. It’s… nice, I think. Peaceful. Plus, I’ve got you in my lap and I feel as though that’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He pulls back enough to shoot you a wink, and you laugh.

“Well, you’re correct in thinking that, Weasley.” Your voice is stern, but your face holds nothing but mirth and a bit of a blush. “Or, sorry, Georgie. I’ve heard you quite like being called that.” You shoot him a teasing smile, and now he’s the one who’s blushing, though it’s not quite as satisfying with his grin still there.

“Only if it’s you calling me that, love.” You laugh again, hardly noticing when he grabs your hand and begins playing with your fingers once more.

The night continues on, the two of you remaining on the couch, you practically in his lap, laughing and joking as though nothing has changed. It almost feels as though there’s no love potion at all, some moments, but those are quickly followed by bouts of shameless flirting on his part. It serves as a quick reminder that you’re not actually sure how much of this is real and what is only happening because of a potion. You figure the sitting on his lap part is potion-induced, as you’ve never done that before, but the rest just seems like your normal friendship. It feels right.

After a while, he suggests a trip to the kitchens for some hot chocolate and biscuits. You quickly agree, scrambling off his lap and heading to the portrait door. He manages to grab your hand as you walk together in the hallway, bringing it to his lips every once in a while to press a gentle kiss to each one of your knuckles. You say nothing each time, turning away in order to hide your blush. For some reason, you’re pretty sure he notices it anyway.

There’s a moment in the kitchens in which you almost snap. You’re drinking the wonderful hot chocolate the house elves gladly made for the two of you, and you had just pulled your mug away from your face, laughing at a joke George has just made. It takes a moment to notice, but George just sits there, staring at your face. No, not your face - your mouth.

Your stomach does a flip and then another at the realization, and before you say anything he’s reaching a hand out, leaning unnecessarily over the table to get closer to you. For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he lightly grabs your chin, brushing his thumb over your top lip. He’s slow to pull away, still staring at your mouth and then your eyes, but when he finally returns to his side of the table he sticks his thumb in his mouth. You’re confused for a moment before you realize there was whipped cream there as well, and you blush, wiping the top of your mouth with your sleeve.

He chuckles, but his gaze remains intense and you’re not sure what to do other than squirm in your seat. After a moment he decides to have mercy and continues joking as though nothing has happened. You manage to sink back into your comfortable routine, but you can’t manage to get the feeling of his thumb on your lip out of your mind.

The two of you eventually make your way back to the common room, sneaking and hiding the entire way so Filch doesn’t catch you out after hours. You make it back and are about to announce that you’re going to go to bed, when you turn around and see his beautiful smile and expectant eyes and excited demeanor as he giggles, striding back over to your couch.

The thought of going to bed leaves your mind in an instant. You’ve always found it difficult to say no to George, but now it just seems impossible. With no reluctance at all, you walk over to the couch where he’s already sitting, allowing him to pull you back down into your previous position nearly on his lap. He wraps both arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder and nuzzling his nose against your collarbone. This time you’re unable to stop the shiver that runs down your spine.

He whispers your name and you hum in acknowledgement, lifting a hand and running it through his hair. If he were a cat, you’re sure he’d be purely. In fact, you’re not positive that he’s not purring now. A low grumble barely escapes him, but you feel the vibration of it against you. You smile, running your nails along his scalp. He squeezes you tighter.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just sitting with him tucked against you, your hand running through his hair. You look over him at the fire, trying to burn this moment into your memory before it’s gone, never to return. You’re not sure how long this love potion will last, but it’s already been several hours and you’d like to enjoy it while you can, despite the guilt that settles into your chest. You try to comfort yourself by arguing that he chose to drink the damn potion, so you’re not sure what else he was expecting. Besides, it’s not as if you’re trying to drag him into bed with you.

Your face heats up at the thought and you ignore the warmth pooling in your stomach. Instead, you decide to open your mouth, an idea that has rarely worked out for you before.

“George,” you say, getting a low hum in response. “I, um… I just want you to know that I don’t regret this, nor will I hold it against you. I hope you won’t regret it either, when the potion wears off. I mean,” you chuckle awkwardly, trying to think of where this could go that won’t lead to disaster. “We’re mates, yeah? So don’t worry. I know I’m not… I know you don’t actually feel this way about me.” You trail off, voice becoming sad as the truth of your words hit you. By morning, this will probably have worn off and it’ll become another failed product attempt that you’ll all laugh off. By tomorrow, you’ll never have this again.

You don’t want to think about that, and so you force a laugh, hoping to move on from the subject. The look in his eyes as he raises his head stops you, though. The look is intense and though you’ve never been very good at reading people’s expressions, you think you see some desperation on his face. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares and stares at you until you begin to feel uncomfortable. When that happens, you glance down at your lap where your hands are still intertwined between you. You watch as he removes his fingers from between yours, raising it up towards your face, lighting touching your chin and pushing it up so you’re looking at him. When you meet his eyes again, your breath catches, both at his proximity and the intensity of his expression. 

He whispers your name again, but you say nothing. You’re deadly silent and as still as you can be. Your heart seems to be moving faster than ever, though. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You freeze. In this moment, in this position, your body and heart scream for you to say yes, yes, of course you can, you always could if you wanted to. Your mind however, after freezing for what seems like much too long, decides to flash warning sirens and come to a halt.

“I- I, uh… I… what?” Unfortunately, it still doesn’t seem to be working very well. George only leans closer.

“Denbright, I’ve kissed other girls, but I have never wanted to kiss any of them nearly as much as I want to kiss you right now. Not just right now, either, all the damn time. Please…” He moves centimeters closer. “Before things go back to how they were, please let me have this.”

If you’re capable of thinking logically, you’d say no. He’s under a love potion, and despite him seeming desperate to kiss you, it’s all in his head. He doesn’t actually want to. This part of you is completely washed out, however, by a matched desperation to just give in and say yes. And so you do, and before you can breath his mouth is on yours, hands cradling your face as though he’s afraid you’re going to disappear.

You push back with as much intensity as he does, and you feel him rumble beneath your hands. You want to smile but you’re too distracted to think of doing anything else but kissing this boy.

He starts doing this nice thing with his chin, where he moves it up and down and you want to devour him. You settle for nipping his lip instead, heart flipping at the light sound he emits from the back of his throat in response. You tilt your head and he pushes further against you, forcing you back until you’re pressed against the arm of the couch, his body right on top of yours, your legs still over his lap. 

One of his hands is cupping your cheek, the other leaning on the couch arm beside you for support. Both of your hands are on his cheek at first, but they slowly travel across his skin, one resting itself on his chest right above his heart, the other finding its way to his hair, burying itself in the smooth tresses. 

You run out of breath. You’re not sure how to communicate this to him, and so you push against him a bit harder and then pull yourself back, gasping air back into your lungs. He chases you for a moment before realizing he, too, is out of breath, so instead he just hovers his mouth over yours, breathing in your air and you breathing in his. You always thought this would be more unpleasant than it is, but his breath smells like chocolate and you can’t get enough. Plus, his tongue was just in your mouth, so it’s a bit late for you to be conservative about it all.

“George,” you breathe, staring up at him. You gaze up at him and he looks as though he’s fallen under some trance. His eyes are unfocused, his breath coming in pants, his expression coming off as ‘dazed.’ Shit, you think, quickly righting yourself on the couch, shoving him off and away from you. He blinks in confusion as you rise from the couch, hands gripping your hair as you begin to pace in front of him.

“Shit, shit shit, George, I’m sorry.” You stop suddenly, turning to him and letting your hands drop, your expression quickly following. “Merlin, I’m so sorry. You’re under the influence of a love potion and I just snogged you like it meant nothing and that was wrong and I’m sorry.” You bring a hand up to your forehead, gripping it as though your head might burst. You feel like crying.

He still hasn’t said anything, but you’re too scared to look at him to gain any idea of how he’s feeling. Instead you turn away, waiting a moment to say, “Please just don’t hate me for this,” before walking away. 

You reach the stairs to the girls’ dormitory before you hear him react, and when you do it seems like he goes from 0 to 60 in less than a second. His footsteps come racing after you and before you can even put your foot on the second stair his hand is reaching out and grabbing onto your arm, tugging you back down the steps. You yelp as you fall back down, but manage to place your foot back down on the floor to steady yourself. You whip around before you can remember you’re too embarrassed to look at him.

“George, what-” He cuts you off.

“The potion only lasts an hour.” You pause, blinking for a moment as you try to process his words. Your brain doesn’t seem able to keep up.

“The… what?” He grabs both of your hands in his, walking backwards towards the couches and pulling you with him. Finally, he stops when you’re away from the staircase, in front of the fireplace instead.

“The love potion, the one I drank earlier. We’ve tested it before. It wears off after one hour.” Your eyebrows scrunch together and you frown.

“But… this batch must have been faulty, then, because it’s been way longer than an hour.” He grins and shakes his head patiently.

“No, it’s the same batch as before. Same ingredients, same brewing time, same everything.” Now you’re really lost.

“Ok, so then why is it nearly midnight and you’re just now telling me this? It should have worn off ages ago, George.” You’re beginning to get frustrated. As though he can tell, he releases one of your hands, pulling you closer to him with the other so he can cup your cheek instead. He’s still grinning and you can’t imagine why.

“Well, if it worked then it would have.” You narrow your eyes at him.

“What do you mean, if it worked? I thought you tested it.” He nods.

“We did, and it does. But that’s the thing about love potions, Denbright. They don’t work if you’re already in love with the other person.” You stay silent, running his words through your mind over and over, trying to think of any possible explanation other than the obvious one. Because, despite it seeming obvious, it also seemed impossible. There’s no way in hell that George Weasley is in love with you… right?

You look up at him, searching his face for signs of sincerity or even the opposite, signs that he’s joking or pulling another prank or still under the haze of a love potion. But no, all you see is the desperation again along with true sincerity in your eyes. At that, you start to notice panic.

“What? No. No, you’re not- George, don’t fuck with me on this. It’s not funny, and I swear to Merlin if you’re joking-”

“I’m not joking.” The grin hasn’t left his face once, and now it widens as he pulls you the final step closer. Your body is pressed up against his and your breath catches again, but this time it’s ok because you hear his catch too. Maybe… maybe he’s telling the truth. It seems crazy to think that he could reciprocate your feelings, but right now everything feels a little crazy. You start to grin right back at him.

Leaning in closer, you stop right before your mouth touches his. Whispering, you say, “I’m going to kill you for tricking me later.” He smirks, tilting his head a bit.

“Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do now?”

You grin and with that, you shut him up.


End file.
